


Mark of Snow

by Sakon76



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakon76/pseuds/Sakon76
Summary: When Jamie Bennett was ten, an immortal teenager touched him in the center of his chest and told him that keeping the Guardians in his heart kind of made him a Guardian too.  What neither of them knew then was that act put a little bit of magic in Jamie.  And little things can have big consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Mark of Snow 1**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 15th January 2013

Jamie Bennett had a mark on his chest. It wasn't a scar; when he ran fingers over it, the white flesh was smooth, not raised. It might have been a birthmark, but he hadn't had it until he was ten. It was roughly hexagonal, and when he'd been young it had only been the size of a half-dollar.

It looked, if it was examined closely, like a snowflake.

He kind of thought he knew when he'd gotten it, though he hadn't felt anything special at the time. He remembered an immortal teenager touching him gently on the breastbone, right where the mark was, telling him that since the Guardians were in his heart, Jamie was sort of a Guardian too. The chill of Jack's touch had seeped through Jamie's thin pajama top, but he hadn't thought anything about it that day.

He didn't think Jack knew what he'd done. Heck, he didn't even think Jack knew he'd done anything! And whenever Jamie saw him, they were having too much fun sledding and building forts and conducting snowball wars against Captain Cupcake and her Boondocks Brigade. Jamie never remembered to ask.

But he remembered - all his friends remembered - standing in front of the Guardians that night, _defending them_ against what the Boogeyman was going to do.

And if Jamie could do that, he figured nothing else in life could be too hard.

So when, toward the end of sixth grade, he'd caught Moe and Terry intimidating Stacy Hollins, trying to extort her lunch money out of the littler girl, Jamie had stepped up to the plate.

And so had his friends.

There were nearly a dozen witnesses, and Moe and Terry getting two weeks' suspension had felt like a victory, well worth Jamie's bruises and the knocked-out bicuspid, one of the last of his baby teeth.

It was the tail end of May when Jamie tucked that tooth under his pillow, but when he woke up the next morning, his room was _freezing_. Under his pillow was a twenty-dollar bill, and a note in loopy florid handwriting that read,

_Dear Jamie,_

__

__

_Way to go! We're so proud of you. Have you considered reading up on Gandhi's non-violent protest methods?_

_Keep flossing!_

_Love,  
Tooth_

Jamie had grinned, the soreness in his jaw totally worth it. He kept the note in his pocket all day, and showed it to his friends, sparking a round of secret smiles between them.

That afternoon, he realized that he'd totally missed finding Jack's present. To be fair, it was clear, and had been left on the windowsill instead of under his pillow. Jamie picked it up. The three-inch snowflake looked like it was spun of the finest glass, but it held a chill in it that hinted otherwise.

His free hand touched his chest, where the snowflake mark was.

He'd begged some string and a thumbtack from his mom, and hung Jack's snowflake in his window, where it would catch the sunlight.

* * *

It wasn't until Jamie was seventeen and soaked from a snowball fight, that Jack found out about the mark. The winter sprite stood inside Jamie's room, tapping the hanging snowflake with his staff, making it spin and throw refracted light all over the walls while Jamie stripped down to his briefs, which were the only dry thing on him. He found clean jeans and got into those first, then sat bare-chested on his bed, stuffing his freezing feet into dry socks.

"Jamie," Jack said, and there was something odd in the Guardian's voice that made Jamie stop and look up. Jack was staring at his chest. "What's that?"

Blinking, Jamie looked down, and realized Jack was looking at the snowflake mark, which he honestly forgot about most of the time. "Um," he said, brilliantly. "I think you gave it to me when I was ten. Same day you became a Guardian."

Jack stepped forward, knelt before the bed. He reached out, but stopped shy of touching Jamie's bare skin. "I don't even...." He looked up, blue eyes meeting Jamie's. "It feels like a little part of me. But I don't know how it got on you."

"In me, I think," Jamie said. "It... feels cool in the summer, and warm in the winter. I've kept forgetting to tell you about it." He looked at the mark. "It used to be smaller," he offered. "Like, half the size."

"Really." Jack hesitated for a moment more, then pressed his palm against the mark.

Frost shot out across Jamie's chest and shoulders, halfway down his arms. Jamie gasped.

"Sorry!" Jack had pulled his hand away, and was looking up at Jamie, wide-eyed and apologetic.

"It's... okay, I think." The frost felt cool, but not uncomfortable. Jamie shrugged a shoulder, testing. The design moved without cracking. He brushed at it with a hand; the pattern neither melted nor came away.

"Jack." Jamie glared at the winter spirit. "If this doesn't come off and I can't go swimming this summer, or change in the locker rooms because of it, we are going to have _words_."

Jack looked half sheepish and half mischievous.

" _No,_ " Jamie warned.

This mischief faded away, though there was now a hint of worry in the back of Jack's eyes. "I don't know what it is, Jamie." Jack pushed to his feet. "This has never happened to me... because of me, I mean, before. I've never even _heard_ of anything like this!"

Jamie shrugged and reached for a clean shirt, pulling it over his head. Hiding the frost that felt like a cool hug. "Well, it doesn't seem to have done me any harm yet."

"I guess not," Jack said, but his eyes were still troubled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mark of Snow 2**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 17th January 2013

The winter Jamie was nineteen, he had managed to save up enough to go on a ski weekend with some of his college friends. He was pretty good at cross-country skiing, but skiing on slopes was a whole different matter. He had fun, though. All of them did.

Up until the point when they realized they were lost, and it was getting dark, and fresh snow was starting to fall.

Jamie panicked for a minute. He didn't have enough gear. None of them did! They were going to freeze to death overnight, and it wasn't going to be ironic, just tragic.

_Jack,_ he thought, wishing for the winter spirit who'd always watched over him in this season.

But Jack wasn't here, and Jamie was.

The snowflake in his chest was warm, and that calmed him. "Right," Jamie said, and unstrapped himself from the skis. He started stomping around in a circle, compacting the snow.

"Jamie, what are you _doing_?" Ron asked, staring at him.

"I," Jamie said, "am building a shelter. You guys can either help, or panic. But helping would get it done faster."

Like his words were a magic charm, one after another the others got out of their skis and started packing snow. There were probably tricks and refinements to igloo construction, but none of them knew them. Most of them were from areas where it snowed during the winter, however, and were old hands at snow forts. "Spiral," said Tracy. "Keystone construction." She had a grin as she laid snow bricks.

It was full dark by the time the capstone was laid, and when they all crowded inside the structure, it was pitch black. Someone shivered. "I wish I had my lighter," Tom's voice said in the dark.

"Who needs a lighter?" Beth asked. "We can keep each other awake telling scary stories."

Jamie shook his head. Even before meeting the Boogeyman, he'd never loved the horror genre. "I think we're all scared enough, Beth. Maybe fun stories would be better."

"You got one?" Ron asked.

"Heh." Jamie laughed, his hand touching his chest. "Do I ever. When I was ten, I met the spirit of winter. Jack Frost."

By the time he finished recounting the events of that Easter, the igloo felt marginally warmer. And so, he imagined, did everyone's spirits.

"Awesome story," Tom said.

Beth's voice was a little more cautious. "Jamie, you don't really believe all that happened... do you?"

Jamie smiled into the dark. "Of course I do. I see Jack every winter. You can think I'm crazy if you want, but it's not going to change what I know to be true."

That, unfortunately, proved to be kind of a conversation killer. "Come on, guys," Ron said. "It's late. No one's going to be looking for us at this hour. Let's all just try to get some sleep."

Murmurs of agreement came around. Jamie ended up lying down, his back to the warmer huddle inside the structure, facing the entrance tunnel. He was cold, and his stomach was pointedly reminding him that he hadn't had supper, but somehow he wasn't worried. He tucked one gloved hand under his behatted head, and let the other rest on his chest. Over the warmth of the snow mark.

He woke some time later to cold fingers nipping at his nose. "Psst, Jamie."

He blinked his way awake. The interior of the igloo was glowing a bright, pale blue. But better than the light was the white-haired figure it revealed, crouching and holding his shepherd's crook and smiling like he'd just won a prize.

"Jack?" Jamie said groggily, pushing upright.

"Sorry it took me so long to get here," Jack apologized. "I was over in Pakistan when you called."

"Called?" Jamie rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake up enough to make the winter spirit make sense.

"Yeah." A pale finger poked at Jamie's chest, at the snow mark over his heart. "You called. I came."

"Oh. So that's what it's for?"

Jack nodded. "Among other things. We can officially dub you 'the boy who will never freeze'."

"...I am not awake enough for this conversation," Jamie decided.

"Mm? Jamie, who're you talking to?" Tracy mumbled.

Jack raised an eyebrow. Jamie grinned. "Jack Frost," he said.

"That's nice." Her eyes fluttered open, then closed. Then open again as she shot upright, eyes flickering about the now-lit igloo. "What the fuck?!"

Her screech woke the others. "What?" and "What's going on?" and "Tracy?" tumbled over one another.

"Why is it glowing?" Tracy demanded. "Snow isn't bioluminescent!"

Jamie and Jack exchanged a smile. "Jack Frost," Jamie explained simply.

"So, you want to head back to your resort thingy?" Jack asked.

Jamie straightened up. "It's snowing out," he said, ignoring the others.

"Storm blew away in the last hour. Imagine that." Jack gave a sly grin. "The moon's full, and you're less than a mile from the place, if you feel up to a moonlit ski."

"I'm in," Jamie said, and headed toward the tunnel.

"Jamie, where are you going?"

He stopped and looked back at Ron. "I'm following my friend back to the resort. You guys can come with, or if you want to stay, I'll lead the search party here in the morning."

"You're crazy," said Beth.

"The best kind," Jack agreed, unheard by her, and led the way out of the low tunnel, leaving the igloo in darkness behind them.

Jamie heard yelps, and grinned as he heard the others scurrying after them.

He followed Jack, and the others followed him, and the mutterings about Jamie's dubious sanity cut out around the time they all came in view of the golden lights of the resort. When they were just at the patio, Jamie unstrapped himself from his skis.

The others were staring at him. "You're really not crazy, are you?" Beth asked.

"Never said I was." Jamie set his skis on a bench.

"There really is a Jack Frost?" asked Ron, who had lived in SoCal all his life up until college.

"Yup." Jamie popped the "p" sound, pleased with himself.

From behind the group, Jack stared at him. "Jamie, what're you doing?"

"Getting you some new believers," Jamie replied.

The other four turned to see what Jamie was looking at. He enjoyed, more than he should have, the way their eyes all went wide. The way Jack flinched at the sudden attention, however, wasn't quite as amusing.

"You're... Jack Frost?" Tracy asked.

"Ah, yeah," Jack replied.

"Wow," Beth, a Comparative Religions major, breathed.

Tom swallowed. "Thanks for the rescue."

"You'd've gotten back here fine in the morning," Jack said. His eyes flickered to Jamie. "I just expedited things." He pulled up his hood with a nod. "Anyhow, I better go. Montana needs some snow."

Jamie, who had been anticipating his retreat, scooped up a handful of snow and packed it even as Jack turned and took that little hop-step that meant he was going into the air.

The snowball nailed Jack perfectly between the shoulderblades.

He spun, wide-eyed, tearing his hood back down. "What was that for?" he demanded.

"You're many things," Jamie told him, "but a coward isn't one of them."

Jack took that. Absorbed it. And then a smile stretched across his mouth. "Well, if you're going to be like that, Jamie...."

Jamie laughed as the snowball hit him.

Within minutes, it was a six-way snowball fight.

Half an hour later, laughing and high on endorphins, they all tromped into the resort lobby, where five of them were greeted with enthusiastic relief by the staff. Jamie and Beth made for the hot chocolate machines, drawing six cups while Tom and Tracy explained the evening's events, leaving out any supernatural assistance. Ron beelined for the fireplace, Jack following amusedly behind.

Eventually, they were left alone to wind down and warm up.

Jamie passed Jack his mug. He snickered as the others stared at the frost creeping across the pottery, the steam instantly vanishing. Jack smacked his shoulder. "Stop that."

"Never."

"You really have known each other since you were ten," Tracy said.

"Yeah." Jack slurped at his cold chocolate. His eyebrows went up; he regarded the cup with surprise. "Almost as good as North's."

"North?" asked Beth.

"Santa Claus," Jamie told her.

Ron and Tom exchanged a wide-eyed glance. "Wait, you mean Santa's _real_?" Tom asked.

Jack shrugged. "Pretty much every one of us you've ever heard of is real."

"Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Sandman..." Jamie listed.

"Holy shit." After a moment, though, Ron's gaze focused on Jamie. "So why do you get special dispensation, man?"

Jack snickered. "Jamie's speeeecial," he sing-songed. Jamie shoved at him; it didn't break the winter spirit's grin.

"Special how?" Beth asked.

Jack sipped at his drink again. "Jamie was the last light, the last believer. And _my_ first believer. So he gets all kind of favors."

Tom was staring. "Wait, you mean that story you told us--"

"Absolute truth, every word of it," Jamie said.

"Holy shit," said Tracy, and apparently Jamie was perfecting the art of conversation-killing, because it died after that.

Eventually, Beth yawned.

"We should get to bed," said Tom. "It's, like, half past three. And it's not even finals week."

"You guys go ahead," said Jamie, waving them off. "I'll be up in a bit."

"Don't wake me," said Tom, standing. He paused, looking at Jack. "Um, thanks for coming to rescue us."

Jack just shrugged and smiled. "Like I said, you'd've been fine by yourselves."

"It's been nice meeting you," said Beth, staring a little again. Jamie practically could see the cogs in her head turning, trying to figure out how the world really worked. He wondered if he was going to get pounced next term and used as a source for her papers. "Will we see you again?"

"Sure." Jack nodded at Jamie. "I visit him all the time."

With more good-nights and lingering glances back at the pair of them, Jamie's school friends eventually went back to their rooms.

"They seem like good people," Jack commented.

"Oh, they are. I wouldn't be out here with them if they weren't."

"Heh. Which reminds me, now they're gone, I wanted to try something." Jack took Jamie's mug out of his hands, set it down by his own. "Give."

Raising an eyebrow, Jamie held his hand out, palm-to-palm with Jack's.

Jack's dark eyebrows knitted together. Slowly, he moved his hand back--

\--gently _pulling_ something inside Jamie, a weird twisting sensation connected to the snowflake in Jamie's chest. Jamie gasped, eyes flying wide as his other hand fisted against his chest.

Blue flickering light, and a sense of cold, flared out a few inches from his hand, reaching toward Jack.

Jack stopped, letting go, yanking his hand back. The connection snapped.

"Wh--what was that?" Jamie asked.

Jack was looking at him, blue eyes concerned. "Did it hurt?"

Jamie considered, then shook his head. "Not... _hurt_. It just felt kind of like... kind of like pulling taffy, I guess." He could still feel the sensation all the way down his arm, a tingling entirely different than pins and needles.

"Not hurting is good." Jack picked up Jamie's mug, handed it back to him, took up his own again. "Gives me a reference point for where to go in North's books for some more research."

"Research?"

Jack smirked. "What do you think I've been doing the last couple summers?"

"You. And books," Jamie said flatly.

"Laugh it up, college boy. You're not the only one who can read."

"But... why?"

Jack shrugged. "I want to find out what that," he said with a gesture of his elbow toward Jamie's chest, "can do. Before we both end up in trouble because of it."

Jamie paused, a thousand bad scenarios flashing through his mind. "Pitch isn't back, is he?"

"Nope." Jack slurped more cold chocolate. "Doesn't mean he's the only one out there, though."

"Oh." Jamie stared into the fireplace for a while, until Jack nearly pushed him over.

"Come on, kiddo. You're falling asleep on your feet. And I really do need to hit Montana before dawn."

Jamie sighed, and pushed up, gathering abandoned cups to return to the drinks station. "You're right. Talk more later?"

"Definitely."

Jamie paused before heading back to his room. "Jack?"

The spirit paused.

Jamie smiled. "Thanks for looking after me."

Jack grinned. "Like I said, you're special, Jamie. In more ways than one."


	3. Chapter 3

**Mark of Snow 3**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 19th January 2013

The summer Jamie turned twenty, two weeks after his birthday, Jack took him to the one place all children wish to see: Santa's Workshop. It was a week-long visit. Jamie had told his mom that he would be on a hiking trip with his college friends.

Sophie, who despite being thirteen still _believed_ , was incredibly jealous. To appease her teenage feminine wrath, Jack gave Sophie the promise of a trip to Bunny's Warren at a to-be-determined-later date. Jamie teased him about falling into the Guardian habit of bribing kids. Jack shoved Jamie, grinning all the while. Sophie, practical, simply pounced on the offer and wrote it out in red Sharpie on a piece of notebook paper. She made Jack sign and date it, then promptly hid the document away somewhere in her room. Jamie knew she wasn't going to forget about it, or let Jack forget either. He suspected his sister was going to be a lawyer someday.

Jack waited until Jamie's mom had gone to work that Monday, then arrived at Jamie's windowsill. Jamie was waiting, his backpack with a week's clothing and toiletries, together with his sketchbook and a plethora of pencils, all ready to go.

"So, flying or snow globe?" Jack asked.

Jamie never turned down the chance to fly with Jack if it was offered, but for once he'd thought ahead and googled the distance. If North's Workshop was anywhere near the Pole itself, it was nearly 3,400 miles from Burgess. "How long would it take to fly it?"

Jack shrugged. "A couple hours."

Jamie did quick math in his head, and manfully resisted the urge to gape. "You can do Mach 2?"

Jack looked blank. "No idea what that is. But I do loop-de-loops around commercial airplanes sometimes, if that helps?"

It was in Jamie's head to say that Jack was insane, but, really, what was the point? From a spirit's point of view, Jack was perfectly sane. He could pull off stunts like that without a second thought. "Flying," Jamie decided, and shrugged on his coat, and then his backpack.

Jack grinned. "Excellent choice."

"Do I get peanuts and a magazine?" Jamie quipped, stepping up onto his windowsill next to the winter spirit.

"No, but we do have a lovely in-flight movie, a panoramic documentary about the wilds of Canada." Jack's fingers laced with Jamie's. Jamie imagined Jack's magic field extending to include him. "Ready?"

"One, two," Jamie counted. On "Three!" they jumped together, and gravity stopped mattering.

"Whooo!" Jamie yelled in pure adrenaline appreciation as they soared upward. His shout mingled with Jack's delighted laughter.

Behind and below them, Sophie entered her brother's room, noted that he'd already left, and closed the window.

* * *

Jack's magic didn't make Jamie invisible, but it did cocoon him whenever he took Jamie for a flight. Which meant that the thousand-mile-per-hour-plus speeds didn't register, nor did the freezing cold. Jack was mindful of this effect and didn't let go of Jamie's hand when they arrived at the Workshop. Jamie's coat might've been okay for a Burgess winter, but the northern latitudes were something else. Jack rapped on the door with his staff, causing a frost pattern to bloom on the wood.

Phil opened the door, and lit up on seeing Jamie. He snatched the young man up into a hug, leaving Jack to complain, "Hey, what about me? Am I chopped liver, here?"

Apparently Jack was. Rolling his eyes, he stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. Phil had put Jamie down and was now questioning him in Yetish, asking about his health and his schooling and how the trip went. Jamie was keeping up with the inquiries quite well, though his replies were in English. But that was okay; Phil was multilingual.

Phil walked as he talked, and in short order had led them into the globe room. Jamie actually stopped and stared, mouth dropping open. Jack leaned on his staff and smiled, enjoying watching his friend be caught flat-footed. Eventually a "Wow," came out of Jamie's mouth as he craned his neck, trying to take everything, on all the levels, in.

In a lot of ways, Jack thought, Jamie really never had grown up past age ten. There was always that spark of childhood in him, flaring brighter at times. It was probably part of the reason he was still able to see the Guardians at age twenty, when most others couldn't.

Jack was so glad Jamie had that gift.

"Everything you thought it'd be?" Jack asked softly.

Jamie nodded, still wide-eyed. "And more," he said.

Jack exchanged a pleased look with Phil. Phil gruffled, then moved off to his own business, leaving Jamie with Jack again. "Come on," Jack said, "I'll show you where you're staying, and you can drop off your stuff. You can gawk more later."

"I'm not gawking," Jamie protested as Jack led him to the elevators.

"You totally were."

"Was not!"

* * *

"Oh, wow, this is nice." Jamie took in the cozy room, paneled in golden wood. A fire snapped in one corner, and there were huge windows showing the Arctic expanses outside. Colorful rag rugs warmed the floor, a quilt-covered bed nestled in one corner, and the huge bureau (yeti-carved; Jamie would put money on it) matched the bedstead. "I feel like I'm staying in a four-star hotel."

"North does things up right," Jack agreed.

Jamie turned to look at him. "Where's your room?"

Jack knocked on the wall the bed stood against. "Right next door. It's a little different than yours."

"Really?" Jamie dropped his backpack by the bed and shrugged his coat off. "Can I see?"

Jack shrugged. "Sure." He turned from where he stood in the doorway, hopped over an elf, and led the way. Jamie followed.

When he stepped into Jack's room, he saw what the winter spirit had meant. This room was cold, its non-adjoining walls carved from packed snow. And it didn't have windows to the cold world outside; it had French doors. There was still a fireplace, though this one was unlit, but where Jamie's room had rugs and quilts in shades of green and red and brown, Jack's decor was all blue-silver-white. Snowflakes were carved into all the furniture, and Jamie glimpsed a row of blue hoodies hanging in the wardrobe. "Did North go a little overboard?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe. It works for me. When I'm here, anyway. I always liked blue, even before I was Jack Frost." He turned back to Jamie. "Anyhow, want to go see the Big Man?"

"Sure."

* * *

North's workroom made Jamie's inner ten-year-old squeal in glee again. There were ice models of racecars, and swords, and robots, and bicycles, and and and!

"Jamie!" boomed North, his arms open wide. "So good to see you! Tell me, how is college?"

Jamie grinned. "So far, so good. Passed all my classes."

"Passing is not good enough," North mock-scolded. "You, we expect to excel!"

"Three As and one B, this term," Jack, toying with a model jet, tattled.

"Well," said North, crossing his arms, "will have to do." But he was grinning, so Jamie didn't think he'd been displeased about the B any more than Jamie's mom had been. North's expression sobered, though, as he looked at Jamie. "So. You know why you are here?"

Jamie nodded. "Jack wants you to take a look at my snow mark."

"Soonest began, soonest finished." North tilted his head to one side. "Are you ready now?"

Jamie blinked. "Um, sure."

In short order, the worktable was cleared, some of the ice sculptures handed out the door to yetis, others put on shelves for presumed later refinements. "Up!" said North. "And removing shirt."

"I feel like I'm in a doctor's office," Jamie said, obeying.

"Is that what happens in those?" asked Jack.

"Usually." North had gone into an adjoining room and there were thumps and crashes going on. "Do I want to know what he's looking for?"

"Your guess," said Jack, "is as good as mine."

"Haha!" North reappeared a second later, brandishing something that looked like a silver spider with too many legs. "Hold still," he told Jamie, and put it on his head.

Jamie froze, eyes widening, as the machine came to life. It massaged his head with its pinprick legs.

("Phrenology? Seriously?" Jack asked North.

"Shh, it works," North replied.)

Then the spider crept forward. It probed Jamie's ears and nostrils. It pried open his mouth and took soundings there. Forcing his eyelids wide, it shone light into each pupil. It measured his ears, neck, and shoulders. It poked two or three times at the snowflake mark. Then it jumped down into his lap, measured his waist, whirred for a moment, and broke.

A thin column of black smoke poured from the top of its tiny head. Jamie stared, mouth open.

"Bah, cheap southern work!" North stepped closer, snatching the spider-bot up. He flicked a finger at the side of its head. The machine's blue eyes came back to life. It chittered once at North, spat forth a stream of ticker tape, jumped from his hand, and scuttled back to the storage room.

Jamie raised an eyebrow at Jack, who just shrugged, looking as clueless as Jamie felt.

North, meanwhile, was reading the ticker tape. "Hmm, good, good," he muttered. "Oh, very curious, that...." His blue eyes considered Jamie for a second, then dropped back to the tape. After he came to the end of it, he was silent for a long moment.

"Well?" Jack asked eventually.

"Is strange news. Not entirely unexpected, though, now that I think on it."

"What news?" asked Jamie.

North leaned close. "This mark," he said, finger just touching the snowflake, "you got it day Jack became Guardian, yes?"

Jamie nodded.

"Is curious mix of magic. Is little bit snow magic, little bit Guardian magic." He looked at Jack. "You told Jamie he was sort of Guardian too, right?"

"Yeah." Jack's forehead furrowed. "So what?"

North smiled. "You should be more careful, when telling children truths." He looked back at Jamie. "At that minute, maybe, Jack could have pulled magic back out of you. Now?" He shook his head. "Is not his anymore. Or, I should say, not wholly his."

"What's the rest of it?" Jamie asked.

"That, you will have to find out."

"That's not very helpful, North."

"Is not meant to be helpful, Jack. What Jamie has done to your bit of magic is all his own. Is dependent on _his_ center."

"My center?" asked Jamie.

"His center?" asked Jack.

"Of course!" North boomed. "Surely you do not think Guardians, or spirits, are only beings with centers? No, Jamie has center. And it has shaped this magic into something new. Something little bit cold, little bit Guardian, little bit him. Is unique," North said, with an affectionate look, "just like everyone else's."

Ignoring the contradiction in North's statement, Jamie swallowed. Thought about the way, for half his life, he'd stood up for weaker, smaller kids without a blink. "Did this... make me the way I am?" He looked up at North. "Is this why I stepped into the middle of all those fights?"

North looked taken aback. "No! Remember, you stood up for _us_ , before you ever had this! You defied Pitch!" He touched the mark again, gently. "If you did not already have Guardian traits in you, Jamie Bennett, this would have withered. It did not change who you are. Gifted magic never does. It only enhances what is important to you."

That... was a relief. Jamie breathed out slowly.

"So the question is, what is your center?" Jack asked quietly. "That's the other part to that. The part we don't know."

"I... don't know," Jamie said.

"Is something only you can find out," North told him. "But is very important. It may take time."

Jamie nodded, and reached for his shirt.

He'd come to the North Pole for answers, and though he hadn't left yet, he was coming away with more questions.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mark of Snow 4**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 1st February 2013

The Guardians, Jamie thought, ensconced in a corner of the Workshop with his sketchbook on his knees and his pencils by his side, were really powerful. Jack, with his control of winter, was the most obvious, but the others weren't sneeze-worthy either. Particularly not Sandman. You wouldn't think dreams would be so powerful, but Jamie had seen the way Sandy could shape his sand into, quite literally, anything he could imagine. Tooth, North, and Bunny were different; their powers were subtler, their magic giving them command of vast resources. But none of the five could be described as a lackluster warrior.

Jamie selected a new pencil and continued his shading.

The thing was, though, they had a collective weakness. If enough kids stopped believing in them, they lost all that. Even, presumably, Jack, who'd been fine the last time it had happened. But then, he hadn't formally been a Guardian during that battle against Pitch Black.

Jamie glanced up, double-checking his perspective, then went back to work.

So the Guardians were supported by human belief. Specifically by children's belief. But at twenty, Jamie didn't really qualify as a child anymore. Yet Jack had flown him up atop the huge globe to show him the glowing golden light that was himself, a currently lonely speck in the middle of the otherwise unlit Arctic circle.

"I don't think you _can_ stop seeing us," Jack had confided, unusually serious. His gaze had flickered briefly to Jamie's chest, then back to his face. "I think that bit of magic--" He stopped, then started again. "I think I screwed up your life," he said softly, "and I'm sorry."

Jamie took a moment to sort through the sudden tangle of confused thought. Was he supposed to be hurt that Jack thought Jamie should grow up and stop seeing him? Or angry that Jack had done something like this to him? Was he supposed to mourn for the sudden realization of _I'm never going to be normal_?

_But I don't actually want any of that,_ Jamie knew. _I never did._

Jamie drew a long, slow breath, trying to, heh, find his center.

"Did you try to screw up my life on purpose?" he asked.

"No!"

"Then what are you being sorry for?"

That stymied Jack. Jamie dredged up a smile. It felt thin, but also honest. "I know normal people," he said. "And they're great, some of them. But you know the kind of books I read, Jack. The kind of research I do. I never wanted a boring world. I never wanted a nine-to-five. So maybe it's not going to be as easy as if I was like everyone else. But if being normal means losing my belief in magic? If it means losing my best friend?" Jamie shook his head. "I'm not interested." And that was truth.

Still, though, finding that Jack's unconscious gift had changed the course of his life _that much_... Jamie was still trying to work through it.

_I'm never going to stop believing._

_I don't want to stop believing. So why is this a problem?_

Jamie sighed and lowered his pencil, looking out into the bustling Workshop. Watching without seeing.

_What do I want to do with this? What do I want to do with my **life**?_

Jack wanted to spend his life having fun, and sharing that with others. That was his center. North wanted to spend his life filling the world with wonder. That was his center. Sandy wanted to inspire dreams, Bunny wanted to give hope, Tooth wanted to protect precious memories....

Those were all their centers. What they wanted to spend their lives doing.

What was Jamie's?

_I want to help the Guardians._ Magic in him or not, Jamie didn't think he qualified to actually be a Guardian. Though, he supposed, neither had all of them, once upon a time.... Anyhow, it was a moot point. Either the Moon would choose him someday, or he wouldn't. It was nothing Jamie could control or influence. But in lieu of that childhood desire, what did he want to do?

_I want to get more people to believe._ And he could do that. He _had_ done it, not just once, but several times.

_I want to protect the Guardians._

Well, it wasn't much to go on. But it was a start at finding his center. Jamie picked up his pencil, decided he needed another color, and rummaged through his cup for the right blue.

* * *

"What's he doing?" Jack asked quietly, looking across the way to where Jamie sat against the wall, his sketchbook propped on his bent legs.

"Having existential crisis, I think," North replied quietly.

Jack stared at the older Guardian. "Having a what?"

"'Who am I?'" North said dramatically. "'Why am I here? What is my purpose?'" He looked at Jack. "Finding center involves turning self upside down, rummaging around like through luggage, looking for last pair of clean socks."

"I know _that_ ," Jack reminded him. "But why's it so different for him than it was for me? I mean, he's got time. There's no emergency going on."

North shrugged. "Jamie is different person than you. And this week, we have completely changed his view of who he is. What he is! He needs to sort things through for himself."

"Changed...?" Jack asked. "He's known about that mark for years."

"Known about, yes. Known what it is?" North shook his head. "There are words for humans with magic, Jack. They have not been used seriously for long time."

"Words?"

Blue eyes met blue. "Sorceror. Wizard. _Magician._ "

Jack laughed. "You mean like Merlin?"

North's eyes widened, his fingers absently stroking his beard. "Now there is thought, to train Jamie... no, no," he decided. "Emrys is sleeping under Britain, along with rest of Camelot. He will not wake, even for this."

Jack stared. "Wait, you mean Merlin and Arthur and them are _real_?"

"Very real, Jack."

"Wow...."

* * *

The Tooth Fairy descended upon the North Pole like a multi-colored iridescent force of nature. Within minutes of her arrival she was checking all the yetis' teeth, commenting on the adorableness of the newest dollhouse design, and batting her lashes shamelessly for a copy of the plans. Her fairies delightedly investigated the house, which was, indeed, perfectly scaled to them.

Jack bit back a snicker.

"Jack!" She made for him like a shot. Knowing the routine, he opened his mouth for her. She sparkled and glittered and fluttered as she checked his snowy teeth. "You've been flossing!" she said delightedly.

He grinned. "Not a once."

Tooth looked even more delighted at this admission.

"Tooth Fairy!" North boomed. "What brings you to my home?"

"Teeth," Toothiana demanded first, staring at his mouth.

North rolled his eyes good-naturedly and patiently underwent the inspection. When it was done, Tooth glared at him. "Less sweets," she demanded, "and more mouthwash."

"Yes, yes," North dismissed, as he always did. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Tooth, it turned out, had come to beg North to put some kind of toothpaste in children's stockings. "Something minty, or glittery, to get them brushing!" she explained. "There's a rash of plaque going across North America," she wailed, "and cavities are up three percent in Europe this year alone!"

North patted her on the shoulder. "There, there, Toothy. You let me take thought on this. Will be something we can do to turn this around." He handed her a mug of sugar-free hot chocolate. "Meanwhile, you sit, relax a little. Mini Tooth Fairies can handle collection for a few hours. Besides, Jamie Bennett is visiting, and he will love to see you." North winked. "Probably sketch you too, if way he has been glued to notebook and pencils is any indication."

Tooth straightened up as North left. "Jamie's here?" she asked Jack. "Why?"

Jack sighed, rubbed the back of his head. "It's complicated...."

" _Jack_."

"I accidentally stuck a piece of my magic in him, years ago, and it's had some weird effects. North thought he could maybe be some help, so I dragged Jamie up here." Jack grinned briefly. "Not that Jamie really objected, mind you...."

"Jack, he's twenty!"

Jack sighed and flopped into an armchair. "Yeah, that's one of the side effects. He's never going to stop believing."

Tooth paused. "I would have thought that would make you happy, not losing him."

Jack looked at her. "The magic's growing, Tooth, changing. Changing him. I can feel it. And no one knows what it's going to grow into. That kinda worries me."

"The Guardian of Fun, worried?" she teased. But then her expression sobered. "You should have faith, Jack," she told him. "Jamie's a pure soul. He always has been. Whatever the magic grows into... it will be a force for good."

"I hope you're right."

* * *

Jamie didn't expect to get tackle-glomped by a fairy, but then he was at the North Pole. Normal expectations went right out the window.

"Teeth!" the Tooth Fairy demanded, her fingers hovering in front of Jamie's mouth.

Beyond her, Jack snickered. "It's easiest just to give in."

"I feel like a horse," Jamie complained, but obliged, opening wide.

Toothiana's small fingers gave a brief but thorough exploration of his mouth. She beamed up at him. "You've been flossing!"

"Daily. I live in fear of your retribution," Jamie joked.

Toothiana blinked, then burst out giggling. She hugged him again. "It's so _good_ to see you, Jamie!" She led him to the set of armchairs all positioned together in front of the fireplace.

Jamie had nearly filled his sketchbook, and at Tooth's demand, shared its contents with them. Pages were filled with drawings of the globe, the elves eating cookies, the yetis hard at work, the sleigh, the nearly feral reindeer that pulled it, North's private workroom, and, of course, drawings of North and Jack themselves.

"Pretty good," Jack said, around the oatmeal-raisin cookie in his mouth. He took it out and angled the sketchbook toward North. "What do you think?"

North beamed with pride. "Is excellent picture of Phil! You got his eyes just right." His own eyes slid to Jamie. "This, is talent."

"That," Jamie countered, "is years of art classes."

"Takes talent too," North replied. "So. You have plans for these?"

"Plans?" Jamie asked blankly.

"Talent shouldn't be hidden!" Tooth expounded. "It should be shared with the world! Otherwise, what is it for? Like with Jack and trouble," she said slyly. Jamie laughed.

"Hey!" the winter sprite objected.

Still chuckling, Jamie smiled. "Emily Dickinson."

Tooth stopped, looked blank. "Who?"

Jamie sighed. "An American writer of the 1800s. She wrote her poetry for herself, and only became famous when her notebooks were published posthumously. She's considered one of the premiere American poets."

Jack looked carefully neutral. North looked aghast. "You do not intend to share your art with the world?"

Jamie took his sketchbook back. "Maybe. My point is, art can exist for its own sake. For what it changes in _me_ , rather than what it changes in the world."

Jack straightened up, leaned forward. "Is that really what you want to do with that?" His fingers flickered toward the book.

Jamie flipped a page, ended up looking at Jack taunting a trio of elves. He'd been floating midair, dangling a chocolate chip cookie just out of their reach. Jamie thought he'd captured his friend's smirk _perfectly_.

He wanted the world to know who Jack was. Who all the Guardians were. So that they would never be in danger of being forgotten again.

What better way, something in Jamie whispered, than to show the world who they really were?

"You know," he heard himself say, and was surprised to realize he meant it, "Maybe I could make a book out of these."

The Tooth Fairy beamed.

* * *

**Author's Note:** At this point, I've read almost all the books. And concluded the movie universe is just different enough that they can't be the same. So please, no one scream at me about North being a wizard, or about Ombric, or about anything. I'll be taking elements of what a magician is from the books, but just that: elements.


	5. Chapter 5

**Mark of Snow 5**  
by K. Stonham  
first released February 4th 2019

Jamie spent the first day of his winter break hitting his head against his keyboard. Eventually the hitting turned less figurative and more literal.

"Hey, whoa, no damaging the goods," someone said, a cold hand insinuating itself between forehead and desk.

Jamie cracked open one eye and peered up at Jack.

"Something wrong?" his best friend asked.

Jamie let out a gust of air and sat back up, turning to face the winter spirit. "I," he declared, "am not a writer."

"Yeah...?" Jack asked, clearly not sure where Jamie was going with this point.

"Art, I can do," Jamie declared. "Telling a story, not so much."

Jack snorted. "I've heard you try to tell stories," he agreed. "Emphasis on 'try'. You suck more often than not."

"How the hell do I turn my drawings of you and the other Guardians into a book without a story?" Jamie demanded. "I have _nothing_ , Jack. Not one single idea."

Jack shrugged and seated himself on Jamie's bed. "That Maurice Sendak guy seemed to manage okay."

Jamie thought about that for a minute. "'Where the Wild Things Are' still has words. And a narrative. I only have pictures."

"So invent a narrative to go with 'em," Jack suggested. "I mean, if all else fails you can tell about epic sled rides, losing a tooth, and fighting the Boogeyman, right?"

"I... don't think I'm ready to put that one on paper yet," Jamie hedged. It felt too personal. He didn't _want_ to put it out there for the world and children's literature reviewers to mock. "I need something else."

Jack tilted his head. "Jamie visits the Workshop?"

Jamie glared. "I'm also not using my name for a character. I don't want people to think I'm that egotistical."

"What's your middle name?" asked Jack. "Use that."

"Samuel."

Jack sniggered. "James Samuel Bennett? You sound more like a Quaker than I ever did."

"So what's your middle name?" Jamie shot back.

"Overland," Jack replied easily. "Jackson Overland Frost."

" _Jackson_?" Jamie demanded.

"It was my mother's maiden name," Jack said. "Pretty common back then for the eldest son to be named for his mom's family."

" _Overland_?"

"That one," Jack said, staff suddenly pointing at Jamie, "you don't get to mock. That was my dad's older brother. He drowned saving my dad, back in England when they were just kids."

Jamie blinked. "Um," said Jamie.

Jack looked away. "Yeah. Ironic, or something."

"I was thinking tragic, maybe," said Jamie, who knew how and why Jack had been chosen to be a spirit and a Guardian. "Or prescient," he muttered, looking away.

Jack was silent for a moment. "Yeah, well. Whatever," he said. "So. 'Sammy visits the Pole'?"

"That sounds stupid," Jamie objected.

"Call it a working title, then. So how's Sammy get to the Pole?" asked Jack. "Why's he there? Heck, _when's_ he there? I gotta tell you, November or December's just plain a bad idea if you want verisimilitude."

Jamie blinked. "How do you even know that word?"

Jack waved off the question. "Not the point. You need a plot, my friend."

"I know." Frustrated, Jamie tilted his chair back onto two legs and stared up at the ceiling.

North called him a magician, but he couldn't do one single piece of magic. No silly wand-waving, as it had been put in Harry Potter, or making of potions. Not even a single spoken spell! The couple of books North had dragged off his shelves and given to Jamie had been big on theory but small on practice.

 _I have Jack Frost's magic and Guardian magic stuck inside me, and I can't do a thing with either of them,_ Jamie thought crankily. _I'm supposed to have 'the power of transformation: reshaping the world by redefining it, and by believing in that new definition.' Which is not very helpful if I don't know how._

"Maybe this is a bad idea," he mused aloud.

"No, it's not." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack flop down on the comforter, lying back and also looking up at the ceiling. "Trust me. I'm the king of bad ideas. I know one when I hear one. And this? Is not a bad idea."

Jamie let out a long breath, examining the whitewash. He could do this. He just... needed a story. He needed a plot, motivation....

Surreptitiously, he studied Jack again.

It was no secret that Jack was his favorite of the Guardians. Or, among the immortal community, that Jamie was Jack Frost's favorite mortal. Which had actually led to three kidnappings and one murder attempt over the past several years. These days, Jamie was _very_ cautious about who he invited over his thresholds.

But the thing was, Jack wasn't like the other Guardians. Nor like any other immortal Jamie had ever met. At least, not in some small but very significant ways.

Namely, he didn't care about how many believers he had. He cared about how many _friends_ he had. And those friends he had, he took _very_ good care of.

"What if..." Jamie said slowly, fitting pieces together inside his head. "Sammy is lonely. Maybe he just moved to a new town." Which Jamie hadn't, when he first met Jack. Like the winter spirit, he'd been born and raised in Burgess. And he'd had friends. But none of them had ever quite _got_ him in the way that Jack had. For as long as he'd been able to see and talk with the winter spirit, Jack had been borrowing his books and watching movies with him. None of Jamie's other friends had ever been into the mystical and magical. Dragging any of them on hunts for cryptids had been like pulling teeth.

Jack, on the other hand, had cheerfully vetted the naiad who had been Jamie's first girlfriend.

"Lonely kid wants a friend?" Jack asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Two lonely kids want friends. Sammy sees Jack Frost outside his window, talks to him." Jamie grinned. "Jack's so shocked he almost falls out of the air."

Jack threw a handful of snowflakes at Jamie. They fell short and melted on the rug. "I never fall!"

"And then," Jamie said, his grin widening to shit-eating proportions, "somehow, by the magic of plot necessity, Jack takes Jamie to the North Pole."

Jack rolled his eyes. "'Step three: profit!'"

"I'll figure that part out when I get there," Jamie insisted with a negligent wave of his hand. He could already picture the first page of the book: a small brown-haired boy sitting at a window, looking forlornly out on a winter scene.

Jack was silent for a minute, then sat up. "It sounds good," he said. "Want me to look it over when you're ready?"

"Are you kidding?" Jamie asked. "I'm planning on enlisting you to be co-author."

* * *

"Are you just playing stupid?" Cupcake asked, tone flat.

"Uhhh..." Jamie replied intelligently.

"That's not nice," Monty told Cupcake. "Even if you do have a point."

"A point?" Jamie asked.

Pippa rolled her eyes. "You seriously can't figure out your center, Jamie? It's kind of obvious."

He blinked. "It is?"

Claude and Caleb exchanged a wordless look, then both reached across the table and slapped Jamie upside the head.

"Oww!" Jamie recoiled, holding a hand against his head. "Seriously, guys, what gives?"

"Playing dense isn't attractive, Jamie," Pippa said.

"I'm not playing!"

She rolled her eyes. "If Jack's center is fun, Jamie, yours is--"

"Belief," "Imagination," "Trust," "Creativity," and "Open-mindedness," tumbled over one another like the manuscript pages scattered across the coffee table the six of them were gathered around.

"Uh..." Monty said, as they all exchanged glances.

"Yeah, guys, real obvious there. Thanks," Jamie deadpanned, and turned his attention back to his sketchbook.

* * *

The thing was, though, Jamie wasn't a Guardian. Not like Jack and the others were. Yet at the same time, he had Guardian magic in him. So he wasn't and was at the same time. And somehow this conundrum, or at least the fact that he _had_ magic, was getting disseminated through the spirit world's ranks. More than a couple spirits who owed Jamie or the Guardians favors had shown up over the last couple months and placed wards on Jamie's dorm, his campus, his car, his mom's house.

If you could see, you could be seen. If you could touch, you could be touched. And if you had allies who had enemies, as the Guardians did, you were a target. Jamie had known that for years. What he hadn't realized was that having magic of his own would make him a _bigger_ target. So he needed to learn to use it, fast. The Guardians would always have his back... but they weren't always around.

"Ya gotta stretch it," Bunny told him one morning over Spring Break, leading Jamie through a series of Tai Chi moves in his mother's garden. "Not just the muscles, though those're important too. You gotta take the magic and work with it, make it stronger. Build it up and get yourself used to using it."

Jamie eyed the way the blossoms on the apple tree, thirty feet away, were opening and shutting in time with the Easter Bunny's breath, and wondered if Bunny was even aware of the flexing of his own power.

Sighing, he let his mind drift through the familiar movements and focus inward instead. He identified the cool/warm feeling that was centered in the snowflake, and if he really paid attention, he could just barely feel tingling trails of it down his arms and legs. He remembered the feeling of Jack touching his hand that one time at the ski resort, pulling at the magic like it was taffy....

"Ahh," Bunny breathed, "now that's the right of it, Jamie."

Jamie didn't dare try to look, to do anything but hold on to that barely-remembered sensation for as long as he could, his body moving on auto-pilot.

He barely managed to last five minutes before he all but collapsed onto the grass, feeling like he'd run a marathon without training for it.

"Well, now, not bad for a beginner," Bunny said, crouching down next to him. He dug about in one of the pouches on his bandolier and handed a block of chocolate to Jamie. Jamie reached up with a shaky arm and took it. He shaved off a bit with his incisors, too wiped to bite. The dark chocolate melted on his tongue, tasting of apples and raspberries.

"I'm wonderin', actually, if you being mortal has something to do with it," Bunny said eventually.

Jamie let more chocolate melt in his mouth, watching through closed eyes as the sunlight turned his eyelids crimson. "To do with what?"

"Well, you've had that magic sat in you for ten years. And you've only started trying to do anything with it the last two. Something that new and foreign, most spirits wouldn't even be able to move it as far as you did for another decade."

"Move it?" Jamie blinked his eyes open against the dazzling sun and flopped his head to the side, looking at Bunnymund.

The lagomorph smiled. "Bet you didn't see it, mate, you were so busy concentrating. But for a few minutes there? Your hands glowed blue."

* * *

**Author's Note:** For those who caught it, yes, I wanted to imply in this chapter that Jamie lost his virginity to a naiad. But saying that outright didn't really fit the tone of the story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Mark of Snow 6**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 7th February 2019

The music was thumping, the colored lights were flashing, and the uptempo songs were even mostly ones Jamie knew and liked. An evening away from his "ink blots and paint pots," as Beth had put it, was turning out better than he had expected. He flashed her a grin--speaking over the bass beat was near impossible--and let the music and the crowd take him.

His projects and reading assignments had been driving him mad. Both his curricular and extra-curricular activities ate up time, and too often left him shy on sleep as he tried to finish up an exercise on perspective, or slog through another chapter in one of North's technical books that made magic seem as dry and tasteless as sawdust.

(If he ever finished them, and college, and had some free time, Jamie had sworn to himself he'd write new books for North's library, ones which actually made magic seem, well, magical. He owed it to the next generation of wizards to make their studies less miserable and headache-inducing than his own. He doubted North had ever even opened these books, because there certainly was no wonder in them.)

But for now he had the music, and motion, a magic of another sort. His heart was beating in time with the tempo, and his body was moving, part of a crowd, and he felt like he was filled up with effervescent sparkles.

_I wish Jack could dance like this,_ he had a spare thought. Because he was pretty sure Jack would love this too, but being intangible to almost everyone over the age of twelve put a damper on bouncing along to music in a crowd.

But Jamie wasn't, and Jamie was here, and it was... exhilarating.

He felt happy, and free.

Until he was elbowed in the back, which jolted him out of his groove. "Hey!" he said, turning to protest, but he couldn't tell who it had been, if it had even been deliberate.

Light caught his eye. Jamie's hand was glowing a pale ice blue, and it didn't change with the strobing of the party lights.

His breath caught, Jamie pulled his hand in close, hoping no one else had seen.

But it didn't matter, he realized, if he hid his hand. Because he caught sight of a mirror, and he realized that _all_ of him, head to foot, skin and clothes alike, was glowing.

His heart rate shot up. He couldn't catch his breath as sudden panic kicked in. He wasn't a Guardian. People could see him. They _would_ see him. And then there would be pictures, and questions, and tests--

Shoving through the crowd, Jamie ran.

* * *

Page after page, the book had grown. The text, for all that it took up less space than the pictures, was harder to get right. Jamie had plotted the story with Jack, both of them trying to find just the right words until they ended up punch-drunk and silly at three in the morning. Now the story and completed illustrations were tossed at Jamie's vast editing crew (the Burgess gang, as well as his college friends, many of whom could now see his co-author).

"Maybe I should sign up for creative writing courses," Jamie grumbled one night, working his way through three different sets of red-penned pages. Almost all the edits were contradictory. And they were starting to blur in his vision. Maybe he needed some more Advil. Or some Red Bull.

Jack, laying on Jamie's bed with his legs stretched up the wall as he worked through his own set of edited papers, wiggled his toes. "Maybe," he said. "Dunno if you've got room in your schedule, though."

Jamie grimaced. "Yeah, no. Not unless I want to either burn out or push graduation back a year."

Jack made a dismissive noise through his teeth. Then he slowly lowered his set of pages down onto the bed and flipped over. He considered Jamie at the desk for a moment.

Light as a snowflake, he tumbled and ended up perched on the back of Jamie's chair. Leaning down, he looked upside-down into Jamie's eyes.

"Jack...?" asked Jamie.

"Shh," Jack said, and just kept looking. Slowly his eyes widened. "There you are," he said with a dawning smile.

Jamie quirked an eyebrow.

"Hands," Jack requested.

Leaving his pen on the desk, Jamie raised his hands until they held Jack's.

"Close your eyes," Jack said, and did so himself.

Jamie obeyed even as Jack's head drifted closer to his, until they were touching palm-to-palm, forehead-to-forehead.

"Do you feel that?" Jack whispered.

"Feel what?"

"It's like your heartbeat, but it's not. It's your magic. I can feel it here," Jack squeezed Jamie's hands, "and here." He rocked his head a little, rubbing their foreheads together. "Can you feel it, Jamie?"

Sitting still and concentrating, Jamie realized he could. That it was easy, even. He could feel it tingling, humming, in his snowflake mark, in his hands, in his head. Even down in his toes. "Yeah."

"That's you," Jack whispered. "Everything you were, you are, you ever will be. It's your center, and what you can put into this world. It's amazing, isn't it?"

"Jack, I glow. I'm a nightlight, nothing more." Jamie had tried, and he'd practiced, and that was the extent of what he could do. He was burning out from his workload and the stress, and he knew it. He hadn't told Jack that he'd gone to a party with Tom and Beth a couple weeks before. Hadn't told him what had happened. He'd nearly had a panic attack, and even now remembering that slip of magic threatened to turn Jamie's stomach into knots. He'd been either ten seconds or one power outage from everyone _seeing_.

He couldn't tell Jack.

Having magic was all well and good, until you realized it could cross a line and leave you isolated, a freak.

Jamie had read too many X-Men comics to trust human nature.

"Sandy glows, and I wouldn't want to get on his bad side," said Jack softly. "And so does the Man in the Moon, and he's the most powerful of us all. Besides," and Jamie felt Jack's eyes open briefly then close again, eyelashes brushing Jamie, "I seem to remember you at ten, turning a tsunami of fearsand into dreamlight. Don't you even try to tell me that's worthless. No selling yourself short, Last Light."

His eyes shut, Jamie took a breath, and tried in vain to believe his best friend. But just now his magic felt more like a low-key curse.

He shook his head. "I'm not you, Jack. I'm not awesome like that. I'm just some little mortal that glows."

Jack opened his eyes again, so so did Jamie. Jack shook his head slowly, still smiling fondly. "You've got no idea how amazing you really are, do you? If there's half a dozen living humans who can use magic, I'm surprised."

"Maybe you should stick more magic in ten-year-olds, then."

"I'll stick to my favorites, thanks."

* * *

Jamie was getting, for lack of a better word, harassed by his magic.

_It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness_ , read his fortune cookies.

No matter what station he turned it to, the radio kept playing Katy Perry's "Firework."

And even his professors kept commenting about the play of light in his work.

"Okay, you know what," Jamie told himself, "you need to get a grip. Not everything is about you. About... that."

Except that somehow it was.

Because after he had finished a still portrait of books and fruit, pulling his pencils away the paper....

The image peeled up from the page and momentarily assumed a three-dimensional semblance before fading away.

Jamie swallowed, and remembered a bunny drawn in frost coming to life and scampering mid-air around his room.

The next time he visited an art gallery, he had to leave fast because the paintings kept stepping out of their frames to walk around. And then there was what happened when he set foot in the school's art studio....

"Shoo," he now told the kittens who had clambered down off the page of his sketchbook. Jack wasn't around; the weather had turned too hot, and he was probably camping down in Antarctica for a while or something. Penguin-sledding, maybe. North's books completely lacked any indices, and Jamie's frantic flipping through the sections he hadn't yet read had netted him nothing. So he didn't know who to ask about this new development.

Or at least he didn't until a polite knock came on his window and he turned, half-expecting....

It wasn't Jack.

It was the Sandman.

(Why had he thought it would be Jack? Jack's knocks weren't polite, they were perfunctory. He'd been coming in through Jamie's window for so long, he knew he didn't need to knock any more.)

"Sandy!" Jamie said. It had been a while since he'd seen the dream-giver. "Jack ask you to check up on me?"

The Sandman waggled his hand, a little bit yes, a little bit no.

Then his eyes widened as he looked at the four inch-long kittens, outlined in ink on white paper, who were climbing over Jamie's hand. A question mark appeared over his head.

"Um, yeah. My magic's leaking," Jamie confessed. "Do you... do you have any tips?"

Sandy coaxed one of the miniature felines onto his hand, where it leaned into the skritches he gave it. Then he looked a question at Jamie.

"Everything I draw, heck, every painting or sketch around me, just keeps walking off the paper!" Jamie burst out. "I can't go to class. I've been officially sick for the last three days because everything keeps floating off the canvases around me!" He felt tears in his eyes and welling in his throat. "Nothing in North's books is any help, and I don't know what I'm doing wrong." He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. "I think Jack giving me magic was a bad idea, Sandy. I don't know what people will do to me if they find out, and I don't know how to keep them from finding out."

Sandy's expression was shocked. Wordlessly, he shooed the inkcat off his hand, back toward its siblings on the sketchbook, and moved closer to Jamie. He took Jamie's hands in his, and a glimmering sand figure flared to life over his head.

"Jack," Jamie identified the figure by the crook it held. The Jack-figure knelt over a sandscape, dug a hole, put something in it, and covered it back up. Clouds rained and sun shone down on the sandscape, then a vine popped up out of the ground. It grew quickly and flowered, turning its face up to the sky. "Jack planting something?"

The sand scattered then reassembled into what looked like a pumpkin seed.

"A seed?"

Sandy touched one finger to Jamie's chest, right over his snowflake mark.

"Jack planted a seed in me. A seed of magic?"

Sandy nodded.

Jamie laughed, half a sob. "I knew that. It doesn't help me now."

The Sandman huffed a sigh, then turned his attention to the inkcats. Carefully, he rubbed his fingers together over the head of one. Golden sand drifted down. The inkcat yawned, settled down on the paper, and went to sleep.

It was just a drawing again.

Jamie stared. "Teach me how to do that," he begged.

Sandy shook his head. He tapped at Jamie's chest again. _You._ He mimed talking. _Tell._ Pointed at the three remaining kittens. _Them._ A head tilt, two hands pillowed under his cheek, his eyes closed. _To sleep._

Jamie took a breath. "I'll try."

Sandy opened his eyes, shook his head, gave a firm gesture with his finger. _Don't try. DO._

Another breath. Jamie looked down at the kittens. He closed his eyes and reached for his magic, called it into his hands, his voice. Tried to hold them both steady. "Go back to sleep," he told the kittens, willing it. Forcing himself to believe it.

They _would_ go back to sleep. There was no other option.

He opened his eyes.

They were just drawings again.

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he told the Sandman wholeheartedly, but Sandy had already had his attention caught by another of Jamie's works.

This one stood on an easel, dropcloth still on the floor around it because Jamie wasn't sure it was quite done yet. He'd slopped on blacks and grays and dark purples in layers, building up razor-sharp texture. In the center of the picture was a young boy, almost eclipsed by golden light, holding out one hand to defend himself and the vague figures behind him (one had a shepherd's crook) from the wave of darkness crashing down on them.

Sandy reached out a wondering hand to the painting, traced the glowing figure in the middle. He hadn't been there for the moment Jamie had tried to recreate, had been subsumed in Pitch's nightmares at the time. Jamie only now thought to wonder if he even knew what had happened back then.

"I... tried to draw it," Jamie said. "I couldn't get the right feeling in ink, though, so I thought maybe paint...."

Sandy turned to face him, his expression aglow. And he caught Jamie in a tight, unexpected hug. Surprised, it was a second before Jamie returned it. His eyes drifted closed, knowing exactly what Sandy meant.

_Thank you for protecting us._

For just a moment, Jamie knew he was protected in return, and that there was no longer any need to be afraid.

But just for moment, because then Sandy stiffened. Jamie opened his eyes, worried, and followed Sandy's gaze, looking out his window.

Aurora lights, North's panic button, glimmered across the sky.

Jamie's adrenaline kicked in. "Go," he said, finding his shoes. Unlike the Guardians themselves, the aurora borealis wasn't invisible to normal human eyes. It was extremely out of season, and extremely out of its geographical range. People would be gathering down below, on the streets, in the park. Jamie needed to find his friends.

Sandy shot Jamie a fast salute, and disappeared out the window, hopping into a golden sand rocketship, zooming off toward the Pole.

As Jamie yanked his laces into knots, he could only hope that whatever was happening, it wasn't as bad as last time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Mark of Snow 7**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 8th February 2019

Jack didn't know how long Pitch had spent planning this. He didn't know where the wanker (to borrow the mildest of Bunny's expletives) had gotten the sheer power for it. And he definitely did not know how he and the other Guardians were going to beat the Boogeyman this time.

He just knew they had to try.

But as the dome of ink crept across the sky, moving from east to west, swallowing the sun, it was impossible to get ahold of Pitch. He was moving from shadow to shadow, uncatchable, his voice taunting them into burning up their energy.

Sandy's corrupted sand had at least been _solid_. How did you fight a shadow?

"You should have taken my offer, Jack," Pitch's voice whispered silkily in his ear. Jack whirled, but there was no one there.

"Oh, poor North. No _wonder_ you never stood a chance," he taunted the swordsman from elsewhere. North yelled and slashed, to no effect.

"The darkness'll kill them all," Bunny warned, boomerang at the ready in each hand as he turned in a slow circle, searching for a target. "Then who'll be left to be afraid of ya, ya bloody--"

Dark laughter cut him off.

"Oh, you think a little darkness will kill them all off? I think not. They're rather like cockroaches, you know. Humans, so resourceful. So creative. And so apt to _turn_ on one another when the lights go out."

"Pitch--" warned Tooth, her army of a thousand surrounding her, just waiting for their chance.

"My dear Tooth Fairy, so quick to violence. But a knocked-out tooth... why, that's nothing compared to what's to come."

"What's to come is us beating you again," said Jack, wishing for half the confidence he was projecting. Only a slim sliver of sky was left now.

"Oh, you think this is about you?" Pitch asked, manifesting briefly, just long enough for them to see him in the gloam, before vanishing again. "I hate to break it to you, Frost, but you're not the center of the universe. Not anymore."

For some reason, that took Jack aback. "Not about us...?" he murmured, holding still, holding to his staff, eyes tracing the last line of light as it disappeared. "If it's not about us, it's about...."

Light.

The last of the light.

The Last Light.

"Jamie," he breathed in sudden dawning realization.

Jamie, who _was_ light. Who glowed like a nightlight, he'd said. Jamie, who could maybe light the endless night.

If Pitch didn't snuff him out first.

That thought felt like a punch to the gut.

"North!" Jack demanded. The bigger man turned. "Snowglobe!"

North didn't hesitate, throwing one the instant it was requested.

Jack caught and shook the snowglobe, activating its magic. "To Jamie!" he said, and smashed it at his feet even as the darkness reached the horizon and night was complete.

The glowing portal activated and he darted through, followed by Pitch's echoing laughter. If only he wasn't too late....

* * *

Jamie remembered reading a story where a computer was used to calculate out all the names of God. Once the computer's task was completed, the world had simply ended, all the stars winking out one by one.

He couldn't help but recall that story now, as he watched the night sky be swallowed up by absolute darkness.

This was so much worse.

 _Vantablack,_ the artist in him thought. _Or Black 2.0._ But in the cold clench of his gut, he knew that the absolute black was nothing so simple as paint.

It moved in a silent slow wave, east to west, eating up the night. Stars disappeared, and the world below them sounded with whispers and shouts and screams.

It was almost summer, but Jamie could feel the chill creeping up the back of his neck as the light vanished.

"Jamie, what's happening?" Tracy asked. He ignored her.

 _Do something,_ he thought, looking at the moon.

"Do something," he whispered, pleading.

"Do something!" he yelled, waiting for a response.

But no answer came from the Man in the Moon even as the darkness began to move across the moon's face.

"You can't win, Jamie," a voice whispered in his ear. Jamie stiffened. "But there are... alternatives."

Jamie swallowed. He knew that voice. A voice no one else would hear. He remembered old fear, the shadows, a lightbulb breaking. "Been watching Star Wars?" he asked with false bravado.

Soft laughter, derisive, from the shadows. There were shadows everywhere. "Waiting for Frost to save you? He's not here this time."

Jack wasn't. Jamie didn't know where Jack _was_. Had Pitch done something to him? _What_ had Pitch done to him?!

Jamie felt anger spark to life in his chest. "If you've done something to him--" he threatened, rounding.

Pitch's laughter was louder this time. "I haven't laid a finger on him," he said. "I had no need to, little light. How can he fight this?" A wave of a pale gray hand in the shadows, indicating the sky, was all Jamie's eyes caught.

"Jamie?" Tom asked. His voice was shaking. "Who are you talking to?"

"The Boogeyman," he told his friends. He looked around, couldn't see Pitch any longer. But he knew the Boogeyman was still there, and could hear him. "It's like a Dyson sphere, isn't it?" he asked, taking in the way the smooth line of darkness moved across the sky. There was a mere sliver of the moon visible now. "You're closing the world inside a globe of darkness."

"Clever," the Boogeyman complimented him. Jamie felt a cool finger brush his cheek momentarily, but Pitch was already elsewhere. The moon was gone.

"Why are you here?" he wondered.

"Oh, my dear boy, in this darkness, I can be everywhere!" the Boogeyman answered, glee in his voice. "And who better to celebrate this moment with than _you_?"

"Why are you doing this?" Jamie asked.

"Because I _can_."

"No," said Jamie, shaking his head. "No, you can't--"

Pitch's laughter cut him off.

"Make him stop," whispered Ron

Humans _needed_ light. Almost everything on the planet did, to survive! Unwillingly, Jamie calculated out how it would go: electricity would hold out for a little while, in urban areas. Then it would fail. When it failed, people would burn things for light. In the end, they would burn everything, just to keep the darkness at bay. To keep Pitch at bay. But then, whenever the things that would burn ran out....

And it would just keep getting colder, and colder. Food would run out. People would freeze. Eventually, everything on Earth, except maybe some deep-sea tubeworms living on hydrothermal vents, would die.

"Jamie," said Beth, "I'm scared."

Jamie drew a deep breath. He was afraid, yes, but he was also angry. He remembered stepping forward to defend weakened Guardians when he was ten. To defend classmates from bullies when he was twelve. Thirteen. Fifteen. Seventeen.

Now.

"I won't let you do this," Jamie said, and knew it was true. _I have magic. As I believe, so shall it be._ He took another breath and forced a smile. "Greetings and defiance, fairest and fallen," he whispered, as ready as he ever would be.

_I am a wizard. A guardian. And the darkness shall never have me._

And as simply as that, he realized it was true. He knew what he was. And he suddenly recognized all the little doubts that had been growing, all the fears of being different, of being ostracized, of being locked up and experimented on, for what they were: Pitch's handiwork.

"Oh," he said, almost offhandedly. "That was you, wasn't it?" He felt it viscerally as the darkness finally closed on the horizon, plunging the world into darkness. But in a way it didn't matter.

Because Jamie was the Last Light. And now, in the darkness, he _glowed_ , casting the endless night away. All the troubles and thoughts and doubts and fears that had weighed him down were suddenly shed like the detritus they were. He felt so much... lighter. "Tell me," Jamie invited the shadow of Pitch, "why are you so afraid of 'one little boy who won't stop believing'?"

"I am not afraid!" Pitch snarled, and whoo boy, Jamie knew a lie like that when he heard one. He grinned, having the upper hand.

"Jack seeded my magic, you know," Jamie said conversationally. He spun around, shedding colored light like glitter. "You can thank him for it sometime."

A snarl. "Frost--"

"Jamie?" Ron asked, his eyes big. He saw Jamie's light now, glowing through and out of him. They all did. It spilled like weightless paint, a wave and a particle, active and solid both, lighting a wide circle around him. His friends crowded into its safety like they had the igloo they'd all built once to survive a snowy night on a mountain. Others hovered farther away, at the fringes of the circle, less certain, but scared of the dark and all that it meant.

Suddenly a portal appeared to Jamie's right, colored light forming a ring that five figures raced through.

Unscathed.

Jamie suddenly felt lighter. Pitch had been lying, of course he'd been lying, but seeing Jack and the others loosened something in Jamie's chest.

Which was when the laughter returned, louder now, and cruel. "So be it!" Pitch's voice boomed, and it was no longer just Jamie and the Guardians who could hear him, because everyone Jamie could see flinched at it. "One little light will not save you."

"He's completed the bloody sphere," the Easter Bunny snarled. "He's got the whole ruddy world in darkness now."

But that was wrong. There was still light. Sandy glimmered. Jack glowed. And Jamie... Jamie _shone_.

"Darkness only wins," Jamie said, "when there's no light left. But we're still here, aren't we?" It was filling him up, spilling out, brightening the night. He looked at Jack. "I found it, Jack. My center." He felt breathless with it, with the realization that it had been there all along and he'd only needed to know how to look for it.

"Oh?"

Jamie smiled and reached out his hand to his best friend. Jack's hand, cool and solid, closed on his. An unbreakable bond.

"Illumination," Jamie said.

The white smile matched his own. "You've got this, haven't you?"

Jamie shook his head. "No. _We've_ got this," he replied, looking around. Guardians. Humans. Friends. Strangers. They were all stronger together, braided together, interwoven. What darkness could compare to that?

Jack's face showed his realization of what Jamie meant, and a single movement holstered his staff in a sling on his back. He, too, reached out a hand. Bunny, less certain than Jack, took it. Tooth took Bunny's other hand, then North, then Sandy, then an awe-faced boy Jamie didn't know....

Jamie reached out his other hand to his human friends. Ron hesitated, then took it, equally solid. Beth latched onto Ron's hand, then Tom and Tracy onto hers and each other's, and others beyond them holding on too, forming a chain....

And Jamie's light was still spilling out of him. But it was spilling _into them_ , into everyone, and he saw, heard, felt the intakes of breath as the others felt what he did. Euphoria, and hope, and dreams, memories, fun, wonder....

It felt like they could light up the planet.

Pitch's shriek of rage seemed so distant and far away somehow.

Jack laughed.

But Jamie was looking up to the sky now.

"Jamie," said Ron, sounding shocked. "You're flying. _We're_ flying."

Somehow he had known that, known that the ground was far away beneath the feet of all of them who had chained together in the light, but it was unimportant now.

The darkness wasn't so far away. It was as close as his own skin. It always had been. But so was the light. And when Jamie took his hand from Jack's, from Ron's, no one fell.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn pencil.

But it wasn't just a pencil, was it? It was a pen and a brush and a purple crayon and so many things more. It was a tool of creation.

He was an artist, and life was light was color.

The pencil flickered in his hand, shifting into a halberd of pure light that almost hurt even his eyes.

The darkness was a bubble, a balloon, a globe of black glass. And like all those things, like all ephemeral illusions, it was so incredibly fragile.

It was amazing, Jamie realized, how little power Pitch really had, when it came down to it.

With a gentle smile, he swung at the darkness, and watched it shatter.

* * *

The Earth rang like a bell.

Blinking, Jack realized they weren't in the air anymore. Had they ever been? It was still night, here, but the stars shone a brilliant white swath across the sky, and the moon....

He breathed in the bright moonlight, relieved.

"No!" Pitch snarled, manifesting fully before them now. He had a scythe in his hand, and Jamie was clearly his target, but--

Jamie, still glowing like a lightning bug, looked up at the Nightmare King. The weapon in his hand changed again, back into a pencil. He cocked his head to one side, expression earnest. "Pitch," he said, "can I draw you?"

"What?" Pitch was caught aback, faltering midswing.

Jamie smiled, turning the pencil over and over in his hand. "Light has all sorts of colors in it, you know," he said. "Even black." He let that hang in the air for a minute, then added, "We don't have to be enemies. There are other options. Alternatives to fighting."

Bunny gaped at that for a second. "If you think for a minute that we're working with that--"

"We're all made of stardust," Jamie said. "Some more directly than others," he added, with a nod to Sandy. "But it's kind of hard to see the moon and stars if the sky isn't dark at night," Jamie reasonably pointed out.

Jack could see Tooth and North exchanging incredulous glances, while a flurry of excited sand symbols fluttered over Sandy's head.

He could also see Pitch's scornful gaze rake over them all before returning to Jamie.

With a sniff and a huff, the Nightmare King turned and disappeared back into the shadows.

"Well, it wasn't a _no_ ," Jamie said.

Jack stepped up beside his best friend. "You really think that's going to work?"

Jamie shrugged. "Those books of North's say a wizard redefines the world by the words he uses, the acts he does, and by what he _believes_. So, who knows? Maybe. It's worth a shot."

"It is not--!" Bunny started, but Jack tuned him out in favor of studying Jamie.

"So," he said, poking at Jamie to see if the sparkles were transferable, which, hmm, hey, they kind of were, "'Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter'?"

Jamie laughed, which had been Jack's goal.

"Uh, excuse me," a bespectacled man in his forties asked, staring at Jack and the others as if he could see them. "Are you...?"

"Santa!" A wave of a dozen children nearly bowled North over. Chortling, North managed to juggle half of them and let the others climb him like monkey bars.

Tooth's eyes were wide as she stared at the adults staring at them. "They can see us...?"

"Crikey," agreed Bunny.

"Aaaand... I think that's my fault," Jamie said.

Sandman raised an eyebrow.

"You said Jack put a seed of magic in me," Jamie told the Sandman. "And, um, I think I've just put a seed of magic in all of them," he said with a nod at the quite literally hundreds of people who were milling around under the streetlights, getting glimpses of legends and fairy tales and trying to figure out what had just happened. Tooth's fairies were flittering all around the crowd, enjoying the adult adulation, and giving quick dental checkups on opened mouths.

"Oops?" Jamie offered, with a shrug.

Jack gaped for a moment, adding up all the changes his magic had made in Jamie's life to the size of the crowd, plus the possibility of Pitch changing also....

"Bit of a game-changer, isn't it?" Bunny murmured, his train of thought for once in complete accord with Jack's.

"Wow," Tooth breathed, then let herself drift closer to the man who had asked the question. "Um, I'm Toothiana. You might know me as the Tooth Fairy. And you're... oh, you're a dentist, aren't you!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter was written under the influence of listening to Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" on loop. Jamie and Jack, being geeks of a feather, both reference Star Wars (A New Hope and Return of the Jedi, respectively). Jamie's line about "Greetings and defiance, fairest and fallen," is taken from Diane Duane's Young Wizards books (a series which I have been reading since, um, 1985.) The theory of how a wizard redefines the universe is a mix from the Young Wizards books and the Guardians of Childhood novels. The Young Wizards books, particularly the first, So You Want To Be A Wizard, also inspired giving Pitch the _option_ to change. Jamie's statement "And the darkness shall never have me" echoes the last page I remember reading from the Amethyst, Princess of the Gemworld comic books several decades ago. Jamie's weapon being momentarily compared to a purple crayon is a reference to the book Harold and the Purple Crayon, by Crockett Johnson. And the story mentioned at the beginning, where at the end the stars start going out one by one, is The Nine Billion Names of God, by Arthur C. Clarke. And, finally, Jamie's center came from remembering Sean Connery's line toward the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Here, it's actually a multilayered pun, referring both to Jamie glowing, Jamie _understanding_ , and also to Jamie drawing (ala medieval Bible illuminations).


	8. Chapter 8

**Mark of Snow 8**  
by K. Stonham  
first released 9th February 2019

The light had faded away by the time Jamie woke up late the next morning. But as the sun shone down on him, he closed his eyes, just to check, and felt magic humming beneath his skin. So that was all right, then.

He looked for his clock and yelped, scrambling out of bed, rubbing the stray grains of dreamdust from his eyes as he yanked clothes on, late for class. Still, he paused on his way out the door to tap the snowflake that hung in his window here just as it always had at home.

He smiled as Jack's ice refracted the light, spinning rainbows all over his room.

* * *

"Good of you to join us, Mister Bennett," his professor said drily as Jamie quietly entered the studio and went to his usual space.

"Sorry," Jamie said, setting up his station quickly. "Late night."

"Indeed."

Something about the tone of his professor's voice, the way he lingered on the word, made Jamie pause. He looked sidelong at the man. Something seemed different about him. As he continued getting his paints and brushes in order, Jamie thought on it. He wondered....

The man's small smile, not even as he looked at Jamie, but as he made quiet comments to one of the other art students, convinced Jamie he wasn't imagining it. He touched fingers to his snowflake mark, and _looked_.

A small golden light, a seed, glowed in the professor. And in three of the other students. Mixing his paint, Jamie let the sight go, but smiled to himself as he started work on the day's subject. (A folding metal chair, draped in rosy chiffon, with what looked like boards ripped from a pallet stacked on it. Joy, another exercise in texture.) He hadn't noticed the four of them last night, but then there'd been so many people joining the chain. Hundreds. There was almost no way he could have seen them all.

Still smiling, Jamie lost himself in his work.

Some time later, the professor stopped by his easel to check Jamie's progress. It was still rough work, but Jamie was slowly getting there. As he considered his progress, Jamie felt a spark of daredevil mischief flare.

(It was his Jack-feeling, the little voice inside his head that sounded so much like his best friend.)

Loosening his magic, Jamie called to the lines, the light, the colors on his canvas.

_Come out and play._

His professor drew in a breath as Jamie's painting did just that, floating off the canvas. "Interesting technique, Mister Bennett," he managed.

Jamie tilted his head this way and that, examining the painting. "I think I need to work more on my definition," he said, gesturing at the somewhat blurred legs of the chair.

He heard more sucked-in breaths as the students on either side of him saw what he was doing. Their eyes were wide.

"Yes, that's a bit Impressionistic right now," the professor said, regaining a bit of composure. But Jamie could see his eyes were wide, shining. Wondering. "I trust you'll clean that up."

"Yes, sir." Jamie held the magic for just a moment more, because he could, then let the image go back to the canvas. The paint was still wet.

Somehow, Jamie felt like the rest of the term would be much easier.

* * *

"You did WHAT?!" Pippa demanded, half-standing from her chair.

Jamie shrugged. "Gave a couple hundred people magic?"

Cupcake, more sedate than Pippa, rolled her eyes and slugged Jamie on the arm. "But not us."

"Well, you kinda weren't _there,_ " Jamie pointed out.

North laughed. It was weird seeing him--and Jack--out of "uniform," but given Burgess' summer heat, both were wearing lighter layers. Jack, in fact, was down to blue swim trunks, and sitting in the shade of a patio umbrella in Jamie's backyard. He'd stolen a pair of Jamie's sunglasses, which were currently perched on the tip of his nose, and his feet were stuck into a kiddie pool which now had little ice floes drifting around. North was more sedately dressed, wearing a red camp shirt and black slacks. His flip-flops had Christmas trees on them.

"So what'll you do now?" Bunny asked. Under his fur coat, thick now for Australian winter, he looked wilted, even more than Jack. His feet were also in the kiddie pool and he was sucking down a frosted beverage like his life depended on it. Occasionally Jack would touch a hand to the Easter-bringer and momentary hoarfrost would race over his fur. It seemed to help.

Jamie shrugged. "I have a book to edit, a summer job to work at, and my vacation to enjoy. I'm not dealing with more than that right now, thank you very much."

"Yeah, man, but what about us?" Claude asked.

"You gonna give us magic too, or not?" Caleb persisted.

Jamie looked at his friends, considering. Monty leaned closer, anticipating. Sophie made gimme hands.

"Oh, go on," Jack encouraged, leaning forward. "You know you're going to."

With a laugh, Jamie shrugged and submitted. He turned his hands palm-up, gathering light into them. Bringing the gleaming sphere toward his face, he inhaled, then breathed out.

It was like blowing seeds off a dandelion. Motes of light took flight, seeming to drift on the wind for a few moments. Then, one by one, they landed on his sister, his friends, and were absorbed.

They each took a deep breath.

"Whoa," said Claude.

"That's... different," said Monty.

Sophie blinked, shook her head. "No, it isn't," she said. "Not really...."

Somehow this was Jamie's life. A welcome-home summer party with his friends, including Jack Frost, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Only one person was missing.

"I wish Sandy had been able to come," he said.

Bunny snorted. "Drongo's a workaholic," he said.

"You're _all_ workaholics," Jack groaned.

"Is not true!" North insisted. A small smile danced on his lips as he looked sideways. "Tooth, for instance, has been known to take breaks of a whole three minutes!"

Everyone looked at the Tooth Fairy, who even now was hovering and directing her tiny helpers all over the globe. A few fairies paused at the snacks table to grab a grape or nibble a cut-up piece of melon.

As one, the eleven of them laughed. It was loud enough that it caught Tooth's attention. "Oh, um," she flustered. "Um, you know what to do," she told her assistants, who nodded and took off. One, Baby Tooth, rolled her eyes and buzzed a quick lap around Jack's hair before flying away, a strawberry grasped firmly in her hands. Tooth flittered over to the party and sat down, accepting the frosty fruity drink Jack handed her.

Jamie wouldn't change his life for anything in the world.

Sophie set her drink down, though, her face troubled. A moment later, she seemed to come to a decision. "Jamie," she said, "what about Mom?"

Jamie blinked. "Um." Somehow the thought had never occurred to him. "Are you sure that would be a good idea, Soph? I mean, she'd be worried about us, all of us, running off and getting into supernatural trouble...."

"Yeah, but we wouldn't have to sneak around to see Bunny and the others anymore. And she'd know we had friends to watch out for us."

"Assuming she didn't ground us for life," Jamie muttered. But he sighed. He could see both sides of the argument.

"Jamie," North said, "is this to consider: doesn't mother deserve magic in her life too?"

"There is that," Jamie admitted.

"It can't've been easy, raising the two of you alone, after your dad died..." Tooth agreed.

Jamie exhaled, then nodded. "You're right. 'Scuse me."

He stood, and went in the house, finding his mother in the kitchen. After a few minutes of talk, which she clearly thought was purely theoretical, he got what he decided was assent when she said "Jamie, if there was magic in the world, _of course_ I'd want to be able to see it. But you know there isn't, not really."

"Mom," he said, "there is. There really is. And I want to show you something." Golden light glittered in his palm, transferred into her as he took her hand and led her to the backyard.

She stopped as she stepped out the screen door, staring at the Guardians that she could now see. Jack looked human enough, as did North, but Tooth and Bunny? No way.

"Who-- who are you people?"

"Mom," Jamie said, "I'd like to introduce you to my friends."

* * *

Some time later, when Jamie's mom was past her shellshock, and getting some firsthand accounts of what her children and their friends had gotten up to in the last decade that she _hadn't_ known about, Jamie's attention was caught by the shade of the apple tree in the side yard.

Unnoticed, he got up and walked over to the old tree. "You could come over, you know," he said softly. "You could join in. You're invited."

There was silence. But Jamie knew he wasn't wrong. "It must hurt, always being on the outside. I know it hurt Jack. But when you're ready... the invitation stands." He smiled. "I'd love to draw you," he confessed, then wandered back to the party.

As he sat back down Jack looked at him, then at the shade of the tree. And even if neither of them _saw_ Pitch... well, both of them knew he was there, watching. Simply watching. None of the others seemed to have noticed.

"You think he'll ever actually join in?" Jack asked softly.

Jamie shrugged. "Someday. Maybe. When he's ready. Meantime, all I can do is make sure he knows the door's open."

"You're such a bleeding heart, Jamie." But Jack smiled at him as he said it.

Jamie reached for another can of soda. Jack flicked a finger against it, chilling it down instantly. Who needed ice and a cooler when you had the spirit of winter at your party? "Guardian magic, remember? And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that bullies and jerks are never that way without a reason. Someone hurt them, to make them like that. So... sometimes there's things that they need guarding against as well. Or at least a chance to heal. To learn better. And stop the cycle." Jamie nodded. "And someday, I'm going to put that in a book too."

* * *

But for now, for _this_ summer, Jamie's main concern was getting the first book in shape and off the ground. Between and around his work schedule at the bookstore, he went through the thick folder of edits he'd amassed, and tried to make sense of them, not only for what his friends had changed, but to understand _why_ they'd changed it. Slowly he collated them into the text. Some of the edits, he realized, really did make it read better. Some didn't have much effect. And a few he discarded outright, liking the flavor of his and Jack's own words better.

Then, when the book was as good as he could make it, Jamie started the laborious work of writing a query letter to send out to literary agents. The librarians at his library actually ended up being a lot of help with that, and also assisted him in figuring out who to send it to.

But then came the wait. Sighing, trying to stave off the simultaneous anticipation, dread, and boredom, Jamie pulled the next of North's hideous magical treatises off his shelf and started working through it.

(He discovered that he hated this one even more than most of the others. It looked deceptively like it was only a couple hundred pages, but Jamie quickly discovered that the book itself was magic and closer to a thousand pages long. He vindictively contemplated using a highlighter on all the actually important bits, but, alas, it was North's book, not his, and Jamie knew better than to mark up Santa's belongings. That way lay the Naughty List.)

Then, one day, the e-mail he'd been waiting for came back.

Yes! An agent was interested in representing the book!

Jamie pumped a fist, spun Jack's snowflake for good luck, and sent the whole book, illustrations and all, off to the agent.

He was back at school and the fall term half over by the time she sold it. She looked askance at the author name he gave her. They tussled over it via phone and e-mail for a couple weeks. Jamie eventually realized it was going to take _the special touch_ to get his way on the issue, and asked her for a lunch meeting. Of course, then he had to skip classes for a day and get to New York City for it, but certain things were worth it. One magic lightshow and one magic seed later, she was on his side. (He promised to come back to NYC in the winter and introduce her to his writing partner.)

Jamie's Christmas present to Jack that year was a copy of the contract. They promptly took that as permission and started work on the sequel.

His present to Jack the next Christmas was the book itself, Sammy and the Visit to the North Pole, by J. S. Bennett and J. O. Frost.

It was the first book in what proved to be a long and enduring series that included, eventually, a book or two about the Boogeyman.

Pitch posed for the illustrations.


End file.
